In Memoria
by ChibiYuugiKoibito
Summary: A candle should only be lit for the deceased, correct? Why would someone wish to light a candle in memory of one who was still living? What - was he dead too?


The dampened streets of the city were the only remnants of the downpour that had occurred a few hours ago, for the dark clouds had cleared away and the evening air had become fresh. As the sun descended over the horizon, behind theshadow of the buildings and shops, the sidewalks only held a dozen or so people each. The hard workers of the city werebeginning to retire, and the bustle to get home was nearly obliterated.

Of the few people on the street, one could be noticed with ease. He was walking quite briskly, and his eyes seemed to dart this way and that as if he were running away from a predator. The gentleman was young, but seemed stripped of the vitality those of his age stereotypically possessed; it seemed as if he had aged far more on the inside than out.

He passed a few darkened banks, bakeries and flats, ignoring the cautious passersby, until he stopped momentarily outside of a rather large cathedral. Inscribed on a small, nearby sign were the words, "Christ the King Church" in bold print. He breathed in a sigh, pushing his fists deeper into the pockets of his fleece sweater, and started solidly up the stairs. He appeared mournful, but purposeful and determined. The large oak doors could be opened with ease, he knew, and as if the motion were practiced countless times he pushed the handles forward and entered the building.

The inside of the church seemed as large as it did on the outside. The two opposite walls, adorned with stained glass images of saints, seemed to only grow in height as the young man made his way down the aisle. Sunlight poured through the left side of the room and splayed colors to and fro among the seats and the altar. All was quiet - peacefully quiet and motionless - and the man's shoulders seemed to loosen. This seclusion, which proved quite sanctifying, was all he wanted.

He finally slowed his pace before a set of small, white candles that were placed in red cylindrical containers. A cushion was placed before the set, and after removing his sweater and placing it on a nearby pew he got down to kneel upon it. His brown eyes, which appeared dull but thoughtful, scanned the side of the set until he found a small matchbox. With a practiced sweep of the hand he lit one of the matches, and carefully held it to the wick of the candle that sat in the center of the rest. Softly he blew out the flaming match and placed it in the matchbox, returning it to its spot adjacent to the candles, and allowed his eyes to absently stare into the glowing candlelight.

As the sun dimmed slowly the shadows in the church followed suit, and the flame seemed to glow only brighter. The young man sighed again, put his hands together and let his eyes close. Soon he was in a thoughtful state of mind, and it proved to be so strong that he did not notice the doors of the empty church creep open and quietly click shut. It was a man who was dressed in black - also a young gentleman, who proved striking in appearance and who possessed a harrowing arrogance. As he entered he removed his black hat, and his fiery red locks of hair sparked with great intensity in the diminishing sunlight. He noticed the other man kneeling in the corner of the room and obscurely took a seat in the left set of pews, where he was far away from the person and shadowed by a pillar. He, too, knelt on a cushion, but allowed his eyes to travel to the back of the other man's blonde head. The man's audacious appearance now shuddered away and was replaced with anxiety.

For the redhead, the silence seemed to ring greater than the mighty bells that were just atop the room. He knew his plan, but was unsure of how to execute it. The ticking of his wristwatch seemed to beckon words from his lips; it was like an ache in his side that would not go away. He cleared his throat after a long minute, grasping the brim of his hat.

"Who's that candle for?" he murmured. Step one.

The young man at the candle set seemed to jump. However, he did not turn around. "It's for - I just want to be left alone, please."

The redhead's bright blue eyes lost their sparkle. Would he wait to say more? But his plan could not wait; he had come with a purpose that he simply had to fulfill. The sunshine continued to diminish.

He cleared his throat once again, plastering a smile to his face although no one but the other man was there to notice it. "Well, if it's any consolation I lost a friend a few years ago. Lost him after a boat trip, in fact." Silence filled the room once again, oppressive and thick, until a moment later.

"This - this's for a friend too. He went many years back."

"How many?"

"Several; I don't want to go into detail."

"Ah. I see." The redhead picked up a Bible and leafed through it, stopping interestedly on one particular hymn. As he began to softly hum the piece, he put the bound red ribbon of the Book onto the page and got up with it, placing his hat back on his head. He walked quietly towards the small piano that sat unmoving next to the altar, and placed the Book on the stand above the keys. Step two.

He glanced in the direction of the other man. "What's your name, chap?"

He sat down on the cushioned bench, placing his hands on the keys. He could not see what the other was doing because his eyes were planted on the music, even though he wanted to. However, the plans would be foiled if the other saw him, so he remained stationary.

"It's Ralph."

"Well Ralph, I'm sure you wouldn't mind if I played a little something, yeah? I always come down here to use this piano; the church staff doesn't really mind."

He did not leave time for Ralph to answer. Immediately his fingers began to weave the notes from the score onto the keys in a delicate, soft fashion. While playing, a smile crept onto his face, one that appeared to mask the growing anxiety.

Ralph whipped his head around in surprise, pushing his blonde hair out of his eyes. All that he could see behind the brown piano was the top of a black hat moving this way and that, and as the music began to amplify he found himself less attached to the lone candle. He stood from the cushion and felt unable to move due to the bittersweet yet optimistic quality of the song, and he felt himself lower to a pew and sit tensely. As the sunlight lessened to a dim orange light, Ralph's feeling of melancholy increased. The song's sweet, legato characteristics caused memories of his dear friend to resurface from the depths of his mind, where he stored the thoughts he wanted to vanish. He only wanted him to finally disappear from his world, but he knew this friend would never leave him. Not after how long they had known each other - a short time that seemed like centuries. Not after all that they had gone through together. Not after his death - the only death - that he himself had witnessed.

The piece began to quiet and slow, little by little, until it was finished. The redhead stretched his arms and pulled the rim of his hat over his eyes inconspicuously.

"It's that hymn called 'Be Not Afraid.' I rather like it."

Ralph ignored the tear he felt move carefully down his cheek. What power that song possessed; it made the emotion that he had trapped so long within him well up and flow over the edge of his mind. Or did the man possess that power? He attempted to pull himself together.

"You…play for the church?"

"No, actually. Like I said before, they let me come down here and use their piano; they've come to know and befriend me over the years because - well I don't like to talk about it, but I used to be in the choir." The man flipped through the Bible again until he could find yet another piece, swallowing the lump in his throat. He placed the book back onto the stand and began to play the score.

"The choir director taught me how to play the piano, so I come here to practice."

Ralph listened to the song as the man spoke, admiring the astonishing beauty of the notes that weaved with such perfection into the air. He said softly, "It seems like you're already quite good."

"I've been playing for a while. I allowed the choir take a backseat."

Every time the man mentioned the choir, Ralph's stomach flipped nauseatingly. He could only remember that boy, the one that had caused him so much pain, who had sung in a choir. Absently he wondered if the man sang well, but pushed the thought away. He had never wanted to hear anyone sing after the incident with that boy. What did his councilor tell him that was called? A trigger?

"So, what do you do for a living, Ralph? You seem like a quiet one; obviously not one who'd work in a garage or anything of the sort." The redhead chuckled to himself, flipping the page and continuing to play.

"W-Well," Ralph said, fidgeting in his seat, "you could have guess it. I work as a librarian. The library down the street from here."

"Ah! That one! Quite the building." The music softened slightly. "Oddly enough, I've seen you there before. I doubt you saw me though. Was today another annual trip to the church?"

Ralph tore his eyes from the candle, towards the black hat that moved left and right. "What do you mean annual?"

"I pass the library often at this time, and I always see you headed towards the church." The song heightened in volume. "Do you always come to light a candle for you friend?" Step three.

Suddenly the air thickened, more than before when notes did not fill his ears. The music did not sound so sweet anymore, for some peculiar reason. It was as if this capped stranger - kind and curious - caused this sudden eruption of an odd atmosphere and his abnormal emotion. He felt his defenses rise to this person from whom he had nothing to fear.

The man had tapped into something no one had ever done before - not his councilor, not his parents, not his co-workers. No one. "If you don't mind my asking, sir," Ralph asked, staring at the black hat, "what's your name?"

The man did not stop. Instead he played louder, louder than ever before. He spoke with a forte. "I think it's a valiant thing that you come to pray for him, your friend. They're probably happy about that, wherever they are."

Ralph exaled after holding his breath for so long. If it was true that this person could not understand his pain, his cruel mind, his thoughts, than why had he been able to make him feel so unisolated in this spacious world? There was little light left that bled through the windows; only a small hint which reminded them of the ticking minutes.

Who was this man?

"I think it's a shame I don't pray like you do, Ralph," the man said, allowing the song to soften. "I think my friend needs a candle lit in his name, even though he's still alive. Is it strange that I think such things?"

Ralph's eyes widened. "But I thought you said you lost him-"

He chuckled. "Lost him, yes; I lost him to his own mind. He doesn't have anyone to help him because no one seems to understand what kind of jungle it is in there. It really is a shame." The song was only a whisper now. "I finally figured out where he moved to, but I know for a fact that he wouldn't want to see me. After all, I'm the one who did this to him."

The song ended. "Perhaps that's why I'm the only one who understands. Because I recreated that jungle." He sighed, turning through the pages yet again. When the next song began a moment later, Ralph was in tears.

He knew.

The man wanted so badly to look over to him, but a new song was set before him and he did not want Ralph to see his eyes, not today. He simply placed his hands lightly over the keys and began the piece, whose melody seemed like a reflection of the other being in the room - open to their microcosm like a new wound but invulnerable, shut off but finally empowered, terribly upset but ready to start anew.

The man studied the sheet music carefully as he played. "So," he began, "I seem to forget how he died."

Wordlessness echoed throughout the cathedral after his last word; it bounced from one wall to another, sat in the seats of churchgoers and whispered to its neighbor like it was spreading gossip. It boomed loudly from the organ and sang from the empty seats of the choir with a sad vibrato. It chanted passionately from the empty altar and cried out like an invisible mourner. Ralph knew.

"In that place...that island. Remember?"

--


End file.
